


your lips are red

by howlish



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, catherine and shamir are there just to move the plot along, jeritza-typical death feelings, lots of injuries in general, some light gore, vampire-typical blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlish/pseuds/howlish
Summary: For a hunter, any vampire should be just like the last. For a centuries-old vampire, any hunter should be just like the last, too. Bylitza (M/M) Vampire AU.This is my gift for Fodlan Frights, the FE3H Halloween Exchange, for twitter user @jikkyuu!
Relationships: Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46
Collections: Fodlan Frights Halloween Exchange 2020





	your lips are red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jikkyuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jikkyuu/gifts).



> This is my Halloween Exchange gift for @jikkyuu on twitter! I knew the instant I saw this combo of prompts and ships that this would be my final submission, and I can only hope my interpretation of these characters is up to par! Thanks so much to the mods for a great event, and to jikkyuu for the great prompt and the chance to break into a ship I’ve always liked but never found the right story for!
> 
> And in case anyone was wondering, the part of the scythe you hold is called a snath. Because why not.

“A few dozen missing persons reports over the years, with a consistent pattern… that’s a vampire, kid.”

Byleth nodded, pouring over the small clipped news articles of different people, men and women, old and young, with only the spaces between most of the kills to unite them. It was the typical vampiric pattern, “Except…”

Jeralt looked up from where he was preparing his gear and counting bullets. “Except?”

“The longer pauses.”

Byleth moved the pictures in the articles into their chronological order, and spaced them out accordingly as well. It took a few minutes, but Jeralt just watched patiently; he knew when his boy needed time to think, and their trust in each other’s instincts had gotten them far.

Finally, Byleth sat back from the ordered pictures, and pointed to the ones most distanced from each other. “They look the same.”

Jeralt leaned in close. They were still a broad range of ages, though the youngest were gone, and there was a lot of diversity otherwise, too. He kept looking, mumbling, “What are those gears churning out this time?” Byleth didn’t just make stabs in the dark, didn’t speak up at all unless he felt he had a good thing going. The boy stared at him, waiting for it to click, as if he couldn’t quite explain it himself, until finally Jeralt’s eyes lit up. “They’re fighters. Warrior types.”

Another nod and a little smile from Byleth. “You’re right,” he said, as if Jeralt had been the one to solve the puzzle in the first place. Jeralt laughed, and ruffled his hair. “What do you think that means?”

“Dunno, kid. We should ask around town a bit before we go looking for a fight, though.”

——

They split up once they had reached the town of Lamine, each digging for information in their own ways; while Jeralt posted up in the local tavern to make nice, Byleth made his way around Lamine, listening in on conversations. They’d timed this visit just right: The residents had noticed the patterns of missing people as well, at least in the time between them, and Byleth had hope he could catch something good.

What he did not expect, however, was the third conversation he eavesdropped on being turned on him.

“It seems we have curious ears around,” the elderly woman interrupted her talk of the last victim to say, a sly smile in her voice.

Byleth’s eyes widened a bit, but she was already coming around the corner, and grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. He could break out, the survival part of his brain said to snap her radius and bolt, but the hunter in him said she still had information. He stared up at her, and after a beat of silence, “I am curious.”

She laughed and pulled him further from his hiding place to another woman of similarly brawny build who she’d been speaking to. Byleth measured them both as fighters in an instant, the same as the photos he had laid out before their arrival, and he gave a small bow of respect to the two even as his arm remained in a vice grip.

“Alright, kid, what are you so curious about?” The second woman spoke, eyeing him up and down.

“The vampire who lives here.” It was clearly not the answer they expected, so bluntly stating what the entire town had been skirting for centuries, and they exchanged glances before the first woman answered him.

“What makes you so certain we’ve got a vampire?”

“I am a hunter.” He did not mention his father, a security measure they’d had in place for years— they could each hold their own, but far better if the enemy did not know backup was coming.

Another exchanged look, and a sigh from the second. “Whatever vampires you’ve hunted before, turn around now. This one isn’t a ‘baby’s first staking’ kinda vampire.”

He furrowed his brow and looked between them. “You have experience with them?”

“Alright… come on. We’ll talk somewhere quieter.”

——

Though the old couple tried to pull him towards their own home, Byleth insisted on a public area, and managed to subtly aim towards the tavern just in case. Jeralt offered only a bare glance when they entered, keeping cool in spite of his son being pushed around by a couple of locals. Byleth and the two women sat down in a corner booth and they scoffed when he tried to order a mead to match theirs, even moreso at his pout— but his money was good, and as soon as their round of drinks arrived they got into the meat of why they were here.

“His name is Jeritza,” the woman who had initially grabbed him (Catherine, as she had introduced herself) started.

“Von Hyrm,” her battle partner, who he now knew as Shamir, “he’s been here for centuries, and for the most part he only takes what he needs.”

Byleth had not yet introduced himself. They hadn’t asked him a second time, after he’d met them with a blank stare. If they were looking for prompting to continue, he was not the right person for it, and there was a bit of an awkward silence before Catherine just continued.

“The exception is whenever someone good with a blade—”

“—or bow—”

“—comes into town. I’ve never seen a vampire so focused on the strongest possible prey.”

So that explained the longer gaps between the warriors and the other victims. Byleth finally spoke, ready to push past what he now saw as obvious: “He keeps the fighters, so they can continue fighting him.”

Another silence at the table, this one of plain shock. Byleth sipped his mead, and licked a bit of froth off his lip.

“Did I get it wrong?” he finally asked, but Shamir laughed, and shook her head.

“You got it exactly right. He takes them as lovers, near as we can tell— he offered the position to me once, that I could continue fighting him forever until we successfully killed each other.” Catherine grumbled openly at that, earning an eyeroll from Shamir. “But as soon as I told him I wasn’t interested, he just looked disappointed and left. He hasn’t bothered us since.”

“But he _has_ continued to take victims.” Catherine’s mood had soured for a different reason now, and Byleth took her in for a longer-than-comfortable moment.

“Because you two can’t kill him. And he wants someone to kill him.”

This earned him a brooding silence that Catherine clearly wanted to break, but that was all the information he needed. He drained his cup, and stood to give them both another polite bow. “Thank you for your help. I will consider this before fighting Jeritza.”

“Hey—” Catherine barked and reached for him again, clearly intent on stopping him, but he was already out of her range, and had apparently annoyed the pair too much to try especially hard on this one. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, kid.”

He crossed the bar unperturbed, and hopped up on the stool next to his father’s.

“His name is Jeritza. He likes fighting, and he wants to die.”

Jeralt snorted into his own cup. “Guess we can help him with at least one of those, huh?”

——

Jeralt’s time in the tavern had been useful as well, pinpointing the most likely hunting grounds, which they now set up around as dusk fell.

“You’ve got that look, like you’re cooking up an idea,” Jeralt’s low grumble was a comfort in the moments before the hunt, when Byleth’s nerves would reasonably be on end. “Do I get to know it before or after you spring it, this time?”

Byleth gave him a little chuckle. “I think we don’t have to hunt him. He’ll be looking for us.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He might already know we’re here. If these are his usual hunting grounds… I’d like to split up. You stay here, and I challenge him directly, further from where the humans are.” He shrugged. “If I’m wrong, you’ll still be here to protect people.”

It was risky, and Jeralt clearly had to think on it a moment before he shook his head with a sigh. “Love you, kiddo. Come back safe.”

——

There was a certain feeling to being hunted. It was, Byleth thought, not unlike doing the hunting, but perhaps that was because all of his prey was so eager and capable of tearing out his throat. There was an inherent tension in the air that said his prey was close before any of his other senses could alert him, the prickling feeling on the back of his neck, _being watched_ , being stalked. He was under no illusions that he could sneak up on this vampire, or that he could outwit, trap, or otherwise gain the upper hand.

In fact, at this point Byleth was not even trying to conceal himself; the hood of his cloak was down and his pale green hair shone in the moonlight, the soft red glow of his enchanted sword at his hip also uncovered. He walked through an empty, overgrown field in front of a large, dark manor at the edges of town— a bit cliche, for a vampire, but it was his best guess, and the feeling of being hunted didn’t lie.

He was prepared for an ambush at any moment.

He was not prepared to be addressed face-to-face.

Jeritza was there in a blink, no more than ten feet in front of him in the field. Tall, blond, well-built — certainly not easy to keep up the muscle mass as a vampire, Byleth had to give him some measure of respect for that alone — and if it weren’t for the circumstances of his arrival, he wouldn’t have read as a vampire at all.

Byleth tilted his head to the side a bit curiously. “Jeritza.” It was not a question, but he was curious.

“You taunt me, _hunter_.” His voice was another surprise, warm and soft for its depth, but the emphasis he put on _hunter_ felt like no less than pity.

“I’ve heard you seek a good fight, more than a victim. If I do not give you one, my blood is yours.”

Jeritza’s lip curled in doubt, but his eyes lingered on the sword. “So be it. I grow tired of slaughtering sheep.”

In another instant, he had drawn an imposing scythe from the air, and charged at Byleth to clash against his ready blade. Jeritza was strong, stronger than most vampires Byleth had faced before, and after a few seconds of pushing against each other he was forced to slide out of the way, already the scythe nicking his shoulder and slicing through the strings of his cloak.

The cloak fell from his shoulder, and Byleth counted it a convenience, even if it came with a sharp pain where the blade had gotten him. One less thing to encumber him against this beast.

Byleth smoothly tossed his blade to his other hand as he passed Jeritza, digging into the vampire’s side and rolling to one knee as his balance was thrown off. Jeritza wasn’t wearing armor, neither of them were, this was a matter of raw power and speed against each other and Byleth was at a natural disadvantage.

His blood _sang_ for it.

Byleth hopped to his feet, and took the offensive this time, aiming for Jeritza’s chest, waist, neck, chest again, neatly parried each time but gaining strength with each blow. Jeritza let out a growl of frustration and overpowered Byleth again in the next parry, bearing down on him, blade against blade, until Byleth was brought down to one knee with his sword over his head. He darted his head forward, intending to headbutt his opponent in the gut, but at the same moment Jeritza pulled his knee up for a similar tactic, meeting Byleth’s chin and making him bite the tip of his tongue even as he rolled away from the grapple again.

It was a small bite, but the taste of blood quickly filled his mouth. Byleth stood, shaking the stars from his eyes, and smiled. “You’re good.”

Jeritza’s stare was unwavering. “You could be better.”

He spat a bit of blood to the ground, watching for any sign of wavering in the vampire. None, but still… “You’re hungry.”

“And yet you’re losing.”

Before Jeritza could grow any more weary of the talking, Byleth jolted backwards, a lure that was easily taken, and he flourished his sword into its whip-like form, snapping towards Jeritza’s dominant hand. Surprise and tactics were on his side, and Jeritza was not expecting it when his hand was bitten into deeply from several sides at once, pulling the snath of the scythe out of his hands and tossing it to the ground. Jeritza was left with a choice, take a predictable path to his weapon, or—

He instantly chose to attack bare-handed, the smarter choice and proof he did not rely only on his weapon’s uncommon use to keep his enemies on his toes. Byleth was more impressed with every passing second, more fascinated than frightened, even as nails turned into claws and aimed for his already-injured shoulder, digging into the flesh before he could fully defend himself.

The close range was all he needed, and he shoved his sword upwards through Jeritza’s ribcage even as he felt the sharp, thick fangs piercing the flesh around his collarbone— a miss, Byleth pulled away roughly to dislodge claw and fang alike, leaving bloody trails and ribbons of loose flesh in Jeritza’s wake, and tugged his sword out messily as well.

They were both suddenly much worse for wear as they separated again, but the open wound just below Jeritza’s sternum was gushing much more than the deep punctures Byleth was sporting.

Jeritza made a break for his lost scythe, and Byleth’s whip shot out again to cut him off. It was only when Jeritza’s already-bloodied hand gripped the blade tightly that Byleth realized he had been faked out, and he was pulled close to Jeritza in one rough motion.

While one of Jeritza’s hands held Byleth’s weapon up high, the other dug claws deep into his waist, like individual daggers. He was trapped, for just a moment, and this time when Jeritza’s fangs sunk into his flesh, they struck true.

Byleth had never been fed from before, had only ever imagined the feeling of foreign objects in his vein. He had studied the effects of the venom on humans— but he was not a normal human. His neck burned, and he fought the mind-numbing effects to stay alert. Byleth’s eyes flickered closed as his blood was drawn, body going slightly slack as he focused on one point. He could hear the fluid leaving his veins, could feel Jeritza’s heavy breath on his neck, and distinctly felt as the fangs slid slowly from his neck, trailing across his throat.

He focused on the hand that still gripped his sword, and he suddenly jerked it across the front of Jeritza, angling it across Jeritza’s own throat instead. The blade cut deeply into the vampire’s neck, and Byleth was released without so much as a noise of protest. This was not the type of vampire to get angry when he was outplayed— their eyes met, and in spite of Jeritza’s impassive face, he looked… _excited_.

Byleth could only imagine he looked the same. Or would, if he weren’t in the middle of collapsing to the ground without Jeritza holding his envenomed form.

The grass of the field went above his head down here, he could feel the blood slowly draining from the new holes in his neck onto the ground beneath him. He had to focus. Jeritza. Jeritza. Jeritza was coming for him, was bleeding from his neck in kind, _focus_. And then Jeritza was on top of him, on the ground together, piercing claws aimed directly for his eyes. He narrowly jerked his head out of the way, clipping his ear instead, and kicked to get Jeritza off the top of him.

They rolled across the ground, their careful fight turning into an all-out brawl, lacerations were joined by bruises and another headbutt left Byleth with a splitting headache.

Finally, his hand closed once again on his nearly-forgotten sword, just as he had taken the upper hand and was perched on top of Jeritza.

Byleth’s blade plunged deep into Jeritza’s shoulder and through into the soil beneath him, the soft red glow shining brighter in the night air. Jeritza jerked, but with it not immediately dislodging, he let out a breath, and closed his eyes.

A beat of silence, and Byleth rolled off of his prey, flopping onto the ground next to him unceremoniously. “That was fun.”

Jeritza snorted. Byleth had no doubt he could wrench the sword out and continue the fight— he was choosing not to. That was answer enough.

“You had fun, too, right?”

“...My heart has not raced so in longer than I can remember.”

Byleth’s laugh was quiet. “Me too.”

“You cannot kill me yet. But perhaps, with time, it could be you.”

It sounded oddly sweet, in Jeritza’s warm voice, while they both stared up at the stars, bleeding from a dozen wounds and the vampiric venom still numbing some of Byleth’s extremities.

“I would like that. To keep fighting you,” Byleth said, and turned his head to look at Jeritza. “I know I can kill you.”

Jeritza shifted his eyes to look to him, as well. “Don’t get cocky. You did not even try to strike a killing blow.”

Byleth quirked a smile, and did not explain himself. “I’m hungry.” Probably because of all the exercise and lost blood. “Do you have food in there?” He gestured with his head up at the manor in the distance.

“...No?”

“Oh. Makes sense.” He sat up with some effort and a sigh. “What about bandages? I can’t introduce you to my father like this. It’s rude.”

——

Jeralt was starting to get concerned on his watch, his careful patrol turning into pacing when he wasn’t paying attention. This length of time meant Byleth had likely succeeded in luring the vampire out on his own, but how long to wait before coming to his maybe-rescue was always hard to predict. If this one was such a warrior, they were sure to be clashing for a while, but…

The question was answered for him, in the form of a familiar quiet whistle that cut through the night air, their ‘all clear’ signal. The tension eased from Jeralt’s shoulders, and he turned towards the source of the whistle.

“How’d it go, kiddo?” His eyes found Byleth, neatly bandaged and missing his cloak, and then trailed down to his hand clasped in another, and up again. “And… the vampire we’re hunting?”

Byleth nodded, that same confident nod he always did.

“Don’t worry. I can kill him if he acts up.”

The blond next to him grumbled lowly. “...Can not.”


End file.
